


A dwarven lovesong

by Valandhir



Series: Songs of the Heart [1]
Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:01:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valandhir/pseuds/Valandhir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the journey to Erebor Dwalin finds that his feelings for Kíli have not changed. - Oneshot</p>
            </blockquote>





	A dwarven lovesong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dream_Seeker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Seeker/gifts), [stickdonkeys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickdonkeys/gifts).



> Alright, I should blame Dream_Seeker and stickdonkeys for this, as I they encouraged me to post this. So this is a gift for them. It was an experiment on a day where I was waiting for a call that took ages to come and I am still not sure if the story is any good. The lovesong quoted in here is actually James Fenton's wonderful poem: "Hinterhof" which I will give you in full in the end notes. This is a one-shot far away from the Raven's Blade, and I should really focus on my main stuff.

The day Dwalin left had been the day Kili had smiled back at him. He was not supposed to do that. Dwalin was the weaponsmaster and had a reputation of sending his trainees off the field in tears. He did not hold with a gentle approach and pushed each man he trained to his limits and beyond that, and when they thought they could give no more, he’d reach inside them and show them how much more they could do. He was feared for that. He never went easy on anyone, not even on Thorin, if he came down to the fields for a sparring session. And Thorin would never have sent his nephews to Dwalin for training, not when there was Balin to train them just as well. Training under Dwalin had been Kili’s choice and he had to give it to the little imp, there were no tears out of this one. Kili would often leave the field pale, with a quivering lip that showed how dangerously close he was to cry, but he never cried where someone could see. And he was back the next day for more. Dwalin was a little proud of that and began to shape him into the warrior he was meant to be. With that light and agile build of him archery and a swift blade were the weapons of choice, over axes or hammers.

 

As Kili grew older he shed that skittish behavior and the lanky movements, he grew into his own body becoming swift and graceful. Dwalin pushed him as hard as ever, and when he found he liked looking at this young warrior a bit too much, he pushed him even harder. Until the day Kili smiled at him in the middle of a grueling practice session, it was not the defiant smile he used when he was getting low on his strength, nor that impish smile that gave away that he was planning something, it was a full open smile with those dark eyes practically worshipping Dwalin, in spite of just getting kicked over half the field. He had the audacity to smile again when he left the field at the end of the day. It was then Dwalin had known that Kili had noticed his glances, the way he assessed him, appreciated the fine form of the young fighter. All Dwalin would have to do was follow Kili down to where he was washing up, grab the lite form and he’d find no resistance, the young Prince would strain into his touch and…

 

It was the day Dwalin left, relying on Bladvila to find him a mercenary job somewhere south, far away from the Ered Luin. He left and did not look back nor leave a message. Seven years he was away, fighting under the banners of men who paid him to kill and then kill some more.  In the war camps among soldiers and mercenaries he could pretend to forget and with a few quick tumbles between the blankets to sate the flame inside him.

 

And when Thorin’s call came Dwalin was sure he could return north. Seven years were a lot of time for things to change. Or so he had thought until the very moment Kili came walking into Bag End. He had grown a bit and sported the first shadows of a beard, shadows only; he obviously had inherited Thorin’s calamities with the facial hair. It startled Dwalin to see the young imp all grown up. “Come on, give me a hand,” he told him gruffly, grabbing the young one by the shoulders. And Kili grinned back at him. “Mister Dwalin.”

 

During the meal Kili sat opposite of him and Dwalin felt the dark eyes on him the entire time, and they unsettled him. Seven years ago there had been admiration shining in them, youthful admiration nothing more, now they showed more of _appreciation._ And while the others were busy annoying the Halfling, Kili would run to fetch Dwalin a new tankard of ale, or find him some pipeweed. It was all very innocent and proper, showing respect for his elders, much like his brother would see that Balin was comfortable and did not have to run for things. It was a show of good manners, nothing else. Only that Kili did it with that smile of his that made Dwalin’s heart all uneasy.

 

And he caught himself looking back at Kili a lot when they joined at the table again. How did he manage to stay so handsome while growing up? Most dwarves did get more homely as they grew older, but then… this young one was of Royal Blood, Durin’s house was different in that regard. Durin’s House… quickly Dwalin turned to Thorin questioning him on Dáin’s armies. Not that there was good news, no army to back them up, and only them plus that inane burglar hobbit to take on a dragon. When Fili spoke up, fiercely determined to see this through, Dwalin looked at Kili and saw the same strong will in his eyes. He sighed, he should know better by now, but there were men who fought for gold and some fought for silver and then there were warriors who fought best for the people they loved.  He’d go with them and he’d come up with a way to skin the lizard this time.

 

That night they camped in the halfling’s house, finding rooms where they could unroll their blankets or sleep on carpets. Dwalin found a place the Halfling had called “Grandfather Mungo’s guest room”, which had a large carpet in front of the fireplace. Kili joined him there, stretching out beside him. “Where’s your brother, young imp?” Dwalin growled.

 

“Thorin had things to talk to him about,” Kili told him, propping himself up on one arm. “Tell me of your travels, Dwalin, where have you been these last years?”

 

And Dwalin could not say no to him, not with these black eyes shining in the firelight so warmly. And so he told him of fighting in South Gondor and North Harad, of Umbar and Dun Karga, and Kili listened attentively, laughed at all the right places and knew when to ask questions. In the end he reached over to touch Dwalin’s cheek lightly with his hand. “It’s good you are back, Mister Dwalin.” They slept right there and sneaked out of the Halfling’s house before morning.

 

During their journey Dwalin found himself often in Kili’s company. Thorin obviously had sent Fili to assist Balin. Not that his big brother needed assistance, but he was the _grandseigneur_ of the group, having one of the youngsters assist him was only proper and a show of Thorin’s respect for the old man. And thus Kili scouted ahead with Dwalin, helped to find places to camp in the wilds and hunted with him. Most of the time they slept side by side too, no wonder if one thought about it, the lad was not used to being alone like that and Thorin had chosen a stupid time to separate them.

 

The evening they heard the Orcs was the first the brothers have time to sit together on their journey. And Dwalin saw at once their reaction, they remembered, of course they would. But when Kili spoke he heard the horror of a much younger dwarf in his voice before Kili quickly covered it up as a joke at the burglar’s expense. Had Thorin not been his King Dwalin might have kicked him in the behind for being such a grouch. He knew why the boys reacted that way. At least Dwalin could rely on his brother to try and salvage the situation but Kili had already jumped up and walked off into the darkness. Dwalin left the others to listen to the tale of the battle by the gates of Moria and followed Kili into the night. He found him standing under the fir trees not far away, arms wrapped around himself, shoulders shaking. Dwalin had never seen the lad so close to crying, not even when Dwalin beat him within an inch of his life on the practice field.

 

He stepped up behind Kili wrapping his arms around the younger dwarf comfortingly. “You still remember do you?” he grumbled. Stupid question actually, of course the lad would remember the night his parents died. Murdered by Orcs, all the camp had been slaughtered. Damned night raid and someone sleeping through guard hour. The two lads had been the sole survivors because the Orcs wanted some more sport out of them before finishing them of. Balin and Dwalin had just come in time to rescue the two dwarflings. He had hoped that the years had blurred the cruel memory. But when Kili turned to him, burying his face in Dwalin’s shoulder, nearly choking on the sobs he tried to strangle, he did not need to ask any more. He held him tight, trying to console the younger warrior, and eventually Kili stilled, leaning into his embrace.

 

When they returned to camp, Dwalin still had his arm around the Kili’s shoulders and shot Thorin a glare that said to not comment, to not say a damned word. He camped down with Kili that night, wrapping an arm around the young dwarf protectively, waking him whenever the nightmares came that night, and come they did. The next morning Kili hugged Dwalin in wordless thanks and their journey continued.

 

The trolls were one of the the worst kinds of mess Dwalin had seen in years, not including that disaster outside the gates of Dun Karga, but at least Kili had not been taken for immediate roasting. He had managed to sneak the lad a small knife moments before he had been sacked. If Kili kept his head and freed himself he maybe could escape before it was his turn to be cooked. But the distressed glance Kili cast at him every time the skewer turned him in their direction cut into Dwalin’s heart.

 

They were lucky for Gandalf’s timely save and the moment they are down from that damned spit, Kili was there for Dwalin, procuring some salve for the burns from his pack. Dwalin knew he should not be surprised, like the entire royal house Kili was a bladesmith and even with the Dwarven resistance to fire, their kind often needed something against burns. He tried to push it off, but Kili was not dissuaded this time and his gentle care was something Dwalin did not quite want to say no to either.

 

Thorin’s announcement that there had to be a cave led them right down into the troll hoard and with every step they tooe down into the dank hole, Dwalin saw Kili’s panic rise. The stench of death, of meat and rot was too close to the stench of orc butchery. He kept close to the young dwarf as they descended into the hole and thus Dwalin was the only one to see Kili’s disgusted face when the others began to bury the toll treasure. While Thorin discovered the elven swords, passing one on to the wizard, Kili scoured deeper into the ugly den, using a torch to light his way into the back parts of the troll cave. “Dwalin!” he called out, squatted beside a pile that looked much like armor junk.

 

Dwalin followed him to the back of the cave, he did not like the others burying the gold, any distraction would be good. When he reached Kili he saw the young warrior holding something, among the armor trash he had found a hammer, a long war hammer made of black steel. He smiled and presented it to Dwalin. “Yours was smashed when you hit the troll.”

 

Taking the weapon Dwalin swung it a few times, it was the damn best hammer he had seen in his long life; that Kili had found him for him made the weapon only more special. Before he could express his somehow, Thorin called for them to leave the cave.

 

The ensuing hunt by the Orcs made Dwalin wish they had a few more warriors with them, so they could make a stand instead of running like these dratted Rhosgobel Rabbits. Of course the wargs heard one of their hairy brethren die and came full back on the company’s tail. When Gandalf called them to the tunnel, Dwalin stayed with Kili fending off the Orcs to buy the other time, Kili shot one after the other and Dwalin killed any who came too close to his comrade. Only Thorin’s order made them run and jump down into the shaft. While the others still breathlessly listened to the noises up there, Dwalin gestured Kili to follow him exploring the path.

 

***

 

Dinner with the elves was a lousy affair and Dwalin would have liked to make a bit of the mess to show them that their hospitality was insulting at best. But when he grabbed that bowl of greens demonstratively looking for meat, he found Kili’s hand on his arm, the young Prince looked at him with such a gentle smile, it made Dwalin’s heart jump. Of course Kili had learned how to behave on a dinner table, and of course he knew elves would only serve greens. For him and only for him Dwalin dusted off his best behavior, eating some of the weird elf food and trying to ignore that horrible bleepy flute sounds.

 

Night fell in Rivendell, Thorin was holding council with Lord Elrond, and Dwalin would have gladly joined Bofur and his cousin in making a fire and roasting something to decent to eat. But Kili found him before and led him away from the others, to a place near one of the streams. A soft light still reached the pool, coming from one of the lanterns at the palace above, reflecting beautifully on the water. Dwalin had noticed at once that Kili had led him away from the others and that they were alone out here. Mahal, the lad couldn’t mean what this looked like?

 

The younger dwarf stepped closer, wrapping an arm around Dwalin’s muscular form, drawing them so close together that their foreheads touched. This gesture had so many meanings, so many levels of intimacy among dwarves, but right here there was only one beyond any doubt, with Kili’s hands gingerly touching his face, and that soft voice whispering: “Thazir, guret tak timar…”

 

_Stay near to me and I'll stay near to you_

_As near as you are dear to me will do._

It was an ancient dwarven lovesong, one that Dwalin had always found quite sappy, but when he heard it whispered by Kili’s warm voice, for him and for him alone, it melted the armor he had steeled his heart with. Burying his strong hands in Kili’s long hair he claimed those soft lips not intending to let go again. Kili opened up to the invasion, his lips parting willingly for him.

 

There was no battle for dominance nor force between them, what Kili surrendered he did so willingly, they spread out Dwalin’s fur cloak on the grass where Dwalin began to unwrap Kili from his clothes, it was a playful, almost lighthearted moment, it was nothing he had not seen before either, but he never had been allowed to openly admire this form as a lover. And Mahal’s hammer the imp was beautiful, his gorgeous pale skin shimmering in the light from above, and his dark hair the appropriate shadow for it. But Kili did not let him just admire, gently he removed Dwalin’s armor, his hands and lips worshipping Dwalin’s muscled torso, a quick wicked tongue tracing scars and teasing sensible spots. Never before had anyone touched him like that, with so much care and tenderness, seeing Kili kneeling beside him, feeling his lips trail across his broad chest, Dwalin growled and pushed him back on the furs.

 

Kili lay down languidly, welcoming his strength, his power; he strained into the touch of the powerful hands roaming his slender body, moaning into their kisses. When Dwalin could not wait any longer and sank into Kili’s tight heat, his kiss swallowed up the soft whimper escaping the young warrior. Dwalin growled, feeling the tight heat engulf him, he wanted to plunge into Kili’s warmth and never stop. But he didn’t, because in this moment he did believe in the gentle approach, he went slow and gentle with his lover, and when he finally came buried deep inside Kili, his lover screamed Dwalin’s name in the throes of passion.

 

Later they lay snuggled together by the lake, sharing kisses and sleep, they don’t talk, they just revel in the other’s presence. In the hour before dawn they made love again before they both bathed in the lake. When they returned to the others they were ready to move out again.

 

***

 

The passage through the mountains was dangerous even under the best circumstances and Dwalin knew that. If he had worried that Kili’s behavior might change with all that happened, he was soon put at ease. Kili was a warrior and one trained by Dwalin himself, he knew better than to moon over his partner while on a mission. He was just his same effective self like before. Dwalin liked to see that, the lad was shaping up into a mighty fine warrior, someone to be proud of.

 

The Thunder battle nearly got them all killed but they made it through, with much luck and only a few scrapes. Nearly losing their Hobbit of course was not according to plan, nor having to pull Thorin up the ledge again. When the group camped down inside the cave, Kili chose the spot beside Dwalin like he had before on their wanderings. They did not kiss or do any funny things in the dark of the cave; they both knew that such things had no place on a quest. But they quickly squeezed hands and the smile Kili had for Dwalin felt warmer than any fire that could have warmed them.

 

Goblin Town was maybe the worst mess Dwalin had seen in the last decade, not even that disaster at the gates of Dun Karga compared and that monster of a Goblin King was someone Dwalin wanted to slice open. Not only did he mock Thorin, he had the audacity to grab Kili for a whipping, making Thorin watch. It was in that moment, Dwalin had to grab the shoulder of his friend and king, to hold him back from any foolish action. Pained as the warrior was to see his lover whipped by the goblins, anything they tried would make things worse. The whole time through the ordeal Kili’s eyes were at Dwalin, holding onto him like he was the lifeline out of the darkness.

 

It was luck that Gandalf arrived before the Goblin King could devise worse things for them. Their flight through the mountain was chaotic but Dwalin was very satisfied to see Thorin push the Goblin King off the platform. The bastard deserved it. Escaping the frying pan tossed them into the fire and on that breaking tree they had to watch Thorin fight Azog. While the Halfling charged off at the Orcs, Dwalin saw Kili reach for him, grabbing his arm the younger dwarf pulled him on a more stable branch. How the lad could climb around on this dratted fir tree was way beyond Dwalin, but they got ground back under their feet and charged at the Orcs.

 

The rescue by the Eagles dumped Kili and Dwalin on the same massive bird. Kili simply lying unmoving, his hands holding onto the strong feathers, Dwalin could see the blood traces in the younger warrior’s coat, the lashmarks are still bleeding. No matter what, he leaned down and kissed Kili’s temple. “We made it out.” Kili reached up and clasped his hand with his, feathering a kiss on the fingers just above the knuckledusters, he even managed to smile at Dwalin.

 

***

 

Beorn’s house was a true respite, allowing them to treat Thorin’s wounds, the injuries of the rest of the company and also Kili’s lashes. The bear man was not fond of guests but the death of the Goblin King had put him into a good mood. They were allowed to stay for a few days until their wounds were sufficiently healed. The second night there, Kili and Dwalin found a calm place in the back parts of the house, where they spread out their blankets. Being far away from the others and in the relative safety of a house, they let their guard down.

 

It began with Dwalin putting salve on the healing welts from the lashes; the salve had done wonders for them already. When he was finished, Kili turned around to him, still half naked and kissed him, his tongue gently teasing Dwalin’s rough lips. How could he only convey so much tenderness, so much care, in a simple gesture? Dwalin cupped Kili’s neck with his large hand and deepened their kiss, plundering the younger dwarf’s mouth until Kili moans wantonly into their kisses. Pulling back, Dwalin cups the young warrior’s face with his hands. “No… your back isn’t healed yet, you can’t lie down on it.”

 

Kili grinned mischievously. “Then you will have to trust me, my Dwalin.” He nudged Dwalin to lie down on his back and began to do away with Dwalin’s coat and armor. His touches had Dwalin growl and moan swiftly, Kili knew how to touch him, to incite hard want in any kiss or lick he placed on the scarred skin, his long hair ghosting over Dwalin’s chest until the warrior is quivering with need. When Kili finally let himself sink on Dwalin’s hard cock, teasing him all the way, Dwalin grabbed his hips pulling him down full, in spite of the whimpered moan, he steered Kili into a hard, fast rhythm, Kili first pleading and the moaning when Dwalin exploded inside him. This time the warrior was not sated, forgetting about the welts, he pushed Kili down on the blankets and take him a second time, until Kili too forgot all but the pleasure of their lovemaking. By the end of the night they curled together, Dwalin’s fur cloak draped over them, Kili having found the crook of Dwalin’s shoulder the best pillow. The big warrior had wrapped both his arms around the young dwarf, reveling in the warmth.

 

When Dwalin woke the next morning, Kili was still dozing peacefully in his arms, but beyond their lair he saw Thorin, having just come back from outside.

 

***

 

Later in the day Thorin told Dwalin to go with him outside, the bald warrior followed, knowing what was to come now. There was little doubt Thorin would be vexed, angry and maybe disappointed. Kili was his younger nephew and might marry into one of the other kingdoms to secure future alliances. They walked until they were near the border of Beorn’s territory. “Thorin…” Dwalin began, his heart sinking. He could not forsake Kili but he also knew that Kili should marry someone of his own station, a Prince or Princess of one of the seven kingdoms.

 

“Is he still serious about you?” Thorin asked quietly, not looking at Dwalin but at the river not all that far away.

 

The question threw Dwalin a bit off his track. “It’s not been that long, Thorin… and I understand if you do not wish me…”

 

The dwarven King shook his head impatiently. “So he still is serious about you. He was, even before you left. I told him he’d have to wait until he had proven himself as a warrior.”

 

“You… you approve?” Dwalin hardly dared to ask, the man who had fearlessly charged the gates of Umbar and who had fought on the burning walls of Dun Karga, was very nearly afraid of what verdict Thorin may pass.

 

“He can count himself happy that you will have him,” Thorin said, something akin to a strange smile in his eyes. “He couldn’t find a better bondmate. The day we win back Erebor I will see you formally joined.”

 

A great relief spread in Dwalin’s heart, he knew Thorin did not mean to make the reclaiming of Erebor a condition, but that he meant that even when they make it, when the royal house returned to their rightful station, he would bless their bond. He did not consider Dwalin an exile-only option.

 

***

 

The journey through Mirkwood was something Dwalin would rather have avoided, Mahal, he’d take a trip right up the Mountains of Shadow any day over skulking around in that forest den. The spiders alone were nasty and the Elves were not any better. Dwalin had often tried to not judge them as harshly as Thorin did, not everyone had the guts to confront a dragon, fear was a factor in battle and he thought the elven king might not have had had the guts to stand against the beast. But now, with their audience and subsequent imprisonment he was sure the man was a bit touched in the head. His guards were an unfriendly lot as well and got up to their own fun in the dungeons. Dwalin had been a prisoner often enough to know what to expect, but he feared for Kili who had been brought deeper into the dungeons than him. Their luck returned in the shape of Bilbo who freed them from the cells, proving himself truly to be the masterful burglar Gandalf said he was.

 

Arriving in Laketown was a relief, in spite of the barrelride. But Dwalin found Kili changed, withdrawn and distant to anyone, including his brother. He wished he had the time to worry about it, but they had to press on to the mountain. Within the few days of travelling north to Erebor Kili gradually became the companion he had been prior to the time in the dungeons but Dwalin was left with the dark suspicion that Kili had not escaped Mirkwood unscathed.

 

Later Dwalin would not remember the darkness under the mountain all that much, what he did remember was Thorin, putting their hands together in the great hall of Erebor and Kili leaning into his embrace. It is not much of a ceremony, but it sealed the promise and the kiss they exchanged held so much passion that it did not need more for him to be happy.

 

When the thunder of the battle of the five armies drew near, Dwalin knew they’d fight, and they’d fight like never before. The morning the storm rose, Kili stood beside him on the gates of Erebor. His lover by his side and the battle ahead, he’d not have it any other way. And over the call of the clarions and the trumpets, he heard Kili’s voice, quote the old love song again:

 

_Heart never hoped that one might be_

_Half of the things you are to me_

_The dawn, the fire, the rainbow and the day_.  

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note
> 
> The poem quoted is actually James Fenton’s wonderful poem:
> 
> Hinterhof
> 
> Stay near to me and I'll stay near to you —  
> As near as you are dear to me will do,  
> Near as the rainbow to the rain,  
> The west wind to the windowpane,  
> As fire to the hearth, as dawn to dew.
> 
> Stay true to me and I'll stay true to you —  
> As true as you are new to me will do,  
> New as the rainbow in the spray,  
> Utterly new in every way,  
> New in the way that what you say is true.
> 
> Stay near to me, stay true to me. I'll stay  
> As near, as true to you as heart could pray.  
> Heart never hoped that one might be  
> Half of the things you are to me —  
> The dawn, the fire, the rainbow and the day 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of non-profit fan fiction using characters from the Hobbit/Lord of the Rings world, which is trademarked by J.R.R. Tolkien. All characters created and owned by Tolkien INC, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Middle Earth. The story I tell here is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of J.R.R. Tolkien's story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to J.R.R. Tolkien for his wonderful stories about Middle Earth, for without his books, my story would not exist.


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